by Peter David
“We’re dealing with a madman. There’s no predicting his actions or figuring out what makes sense to him and what doesn’t. The point is: This changes nothing.”
“Wrong, Commodore,” said Jellico, his voice ringing with confidence. “This changes everything.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Because the Starfleet Charter supersedes orders. That’s why the charter exists: to be a grounding for right and wrong, something to measure orders against. In this particular case, Starfleet Charter Article Fourteen, Section Thirty-one, clearly states that Starfleet personnel can take extraordinary measures in times of dire emergency. An SOS, by any definition, constitutes probable belief that a dire emergency is present.”
Kemper looked from the ship on the screen back to Jellico. “What are you saying, Commodore?”
“I am saying that if you do not stand down your weapons, I am authorized by the Starfleet Charter to take an extraordinary measure and assume command of your vessel immediately.”
“That is a rather broad interpretation of Article Fourteen, Section Thirty-one.”
“You can take it up with a review board if you wish. I emphasize that it is not my first choice, but I feel it is my only choice. It’s up to you, Commodore.”
Kemper took a long time to respond. That was fine with Jellico; the more time, the better.
“Mr. Hopkins,” he said finally, “stand down the phasers. Secure from general quarters.”
“Aye, sir,” and Hopkins had never sounded so happy to obey an order as he did at that moment.
Jellico noticed out of the corner of his eye that Detwiler was smiling and nodding in approval, but he chose not to dwell upon it since it was none of his business.
“I’m going to prepare a security team to board her and see what’s going on,” said Kemper. “Admiral Jellico, I was wondering if you would like to head it up?”
It was a canny suggestion on Kemper’s part. If he was right, and this turned out to be some sort of elaborate trap, then Jellico was going to be the one who found himself in the middle of it. But it was a chance that Jellico was willing to take, because he still firmly believed that Calhoun was innocent of the charges against him or that, at the very least, there was more to it than met the eye.
As it turned out, though, it wasn’t going to be necessary.
ii.
The strange-looking vessel that dropped out of space moments before Jellico and the security team could be beamed aboard was completely unknown to anyone on the bridge. The Dauntless immediately went to yellow alert as Kemper prepared for a possible assault.
“There’s every likelihood,” said Jellico, who had been about to head down to the transporter room, “that their target is going to be the Excalibur. It may well be a member of the Protectorate that we’re not familiar with.”
“Well, then this will be a hell of a get-acquainted party,” said Kemper.
“Sir,” said Hopkins, “we’re getting an incoming hail—” Then his voice trailed off for a moment before he looked up again with confusion and astonishment on his face. “I’ll be damned.”
“What’s going on, Hopkins?” said Kemper, who wasn’t thrilled with Hopkins’s reaction.
“Commodore… it’s Captain Calhoun.”
“What is?”
“On the hailing frequency.”
“So the Excalibur finally decided to talk to us?”
“No, sir. He’s on the ship that just arrived.”
Kemper couldn’t believe it. “Say again?”
“He’s not on the Excalibur. He’s on the ship that just got here.”
Not knowing what else to say, Kemper said, “Put him on.”
Moments later the image of Mackenzie Calhoun appeared on the screen. The bridge crew made no attempt to hide their shock. Calhoun’s hair was disheveled and he had a length of beard that had grown in. His clothing was torn, his skin was badly burned. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. All in all, it seemed impressive that he was still standing. Yet there was the customary determination in his eyes, as if he was resolved to ignore all the weaknesses to which a mere mortal’s body was heir.
Slowly Kemper rose to his feet. “Calhoun…?”
Calhoun squinted and then his mouth twitched into the semblance of a smile. “Well, if it isn’t Glass Jaw Kemper.”
There was a ripple of snickering from behind the Commodore, which quickly ceased. Then Calhoun noticed that Jellico was there as well. “Admiral,” he said, and there was definite exhaustion in his voice. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“Mac? What are you doing in that ship?” Jellico stared at him in confusion. “Why aren’t you on the Excalibur?”
“It’s an interesting story,” said Calhoun with effort. “I think we need to talk, about quite a few things. But first I have to get to my ship.”
“Your ship appears nonresponsive,” Jellico said. “Sensors indicate the normal crew complement, so she seems more or less intact. But we haven’t been able to get a rise out of her.”
“That’s either a bad thing or a good thing. We’ll have to find out.”
“Bad or good. Not a lot of room in between.”
“There rarely is,” said Mackenzie Calhoun.
Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco
i.
Admiral Nechayev strode across the pavilion in front of Starfleet Headquarters. It was a gorgeous morning, but she wasn’t paying any attention to it. Instead her mind was literally light-years away.
She didn’t understand why in the world she hadn’t heard from any Starfleet vessels as to a confirmed kill of the Excalibur. Nor had she heard anything further from Morgan Primus, even though she had sent a pulse via a subspace channel in an effort to summon her, just as she had earlier. It had worked perfectly the first time, but this time: nothing.
Nor had any of her other “associates” been in touch with her. That was not necessarily unusual. They minimized contact with her as a matter of security. The less she knew, the less she would be able to tell someone else in the event that she was captured. Not that Nechayev considered that to be a genuine threat, but she supposed that one couldn’t be too careful about these things.
Lost in thought, she almost collided with a man who was directly in her path. She stepped around him reflexively and then let out a startled cry as his hand clamped down upon her shoulder. She turned and reacted as if she had just been slapped hard across the face.
It was Mackenzie Calhoun, and there was quiet anger in his face, discernible by the way that his scar was shining a brighter red against his cheek. To his immediate right was Edward Jellico.
Neither of them seemed happy to see her.
“M-Mac…” she stammered out. “I… I don’t—”
“It’s over, Alynna,” said Jellico flatly.”
What’s… over?” She forced a smile. “Ed, what are you talking about?”
“I told you about Morgan,” said Calhoun, “and about the D’myurj. Things that you wanted to keep quiet about.”
“I keep quiet about a lot of things, Mac. That’s my job. And I… I don’t understand what you’re doing here. Ed, what is he—?”
“He wasn’t responsible for the slaughter on New Thallon. Neither was the Excalibur herself, as I’m sure you know,” he said tightly. “Too many things came together from too many directions in order to make this happen. Too many disparate elements.” Jellico watched her grimly, looking for any sign of a reaction that would indicate guilt. “Morgan, the ambassador, the Brethren, the kill order on the Excal. All of it. There had to be one person who was coordinating it all, and no matter how we look at it, it all keeps coming back to you.”
She summoned massive amounts of indignation the way that someone else would summon courage. “That is an outrageous accusation, Edward, and I will see you busted down to ensign if you even dare to repeat such calumnies. And you, Calhoun,” she continued. “You now say that you are innocent of all charges. What you say
doesn’t matter; you’re still going to have to face the Federation Council—”
“Tusari Gyn admitted everything.”
Calhoun said it so matter-of-factly that at first it didn’t quite register to her. “I’m… sorry?”
“He put up quite a struggle,” said Jellico, smiling at the recollection. “He was a tough nut to crack. He lasted a whole… what would you say, Mac? Twenty minutes?”
“Fourteen.”
“Fourteen minutes before he gave you up.”
Nechayev’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’re bluffing, Ed. I can always tell. Calhoun is unreadable, but you have a lousy poker face. Furthermore, if you had any proof of these… these outrageous claims, then you wouldn’t be here, the two of you. You’d be here with security guards, ready to take me in.”
“We are.” Jellico snapped his fingers and, pointing behind her, said, “Take her.”
Nechayev spun, startled, expecting to see Starfleet security guards right behind her.
Should that have been the case, she would have killed them instantly. Her carefully designed, meticulously manufactured hybrid body had that capability for emergency situations, and this would certainly have qualified as such.
But she didn’t see a guard. Instead, she found herself looking into the face of Soleta.
She hesitated, caught up in a moment of confusion.
The moment cost her.
ii.
Soleta’s hand speared forward, clamping onto Nechayev’s face as if she were about to tear it off.
Vulcans were forbidden from using the technique of the mindmeld in any manner that even vaguely resembled that of employing it as a weapon. Such a use would have been considered an abomination, a perversion of the sacred techniques that had developed the mindmeld in the first place.
During the time in her life when Soleta had thought she was pure Vulcan, she would have been as appalled as anyone else over the notion of utilizing the mindmeld as one would a spear or a club.
But Soleta knew her heritage, and had come to grips with it, accepting it and herself for all that she was.
Consequently, she was a good deal less delicate about it.
She slammed her mind into Nechayev’s, having no idea what she was going to find. She was determined not to give Nechayev the slightest opportunity to fight back.
And a barrage of images comes at her, fast, relentless, so many, so much, that Soleta cannot discern or individualize any of it; she has never encountered anything like it, a mind so different from hers, so impossible to understand, that she cannot even conceptualize it, and she sees that Nechayev wants to attack her, she has some sort of neuralizing toxin built right into her DNA but she has to use an act of will and Soleta shoves that act of will back, back, back into the recesses of Nechayev’s brain, or the thing that says it is Nechayev, and it may be her or may not be, whatever it is, wherever, it’s overwhelming, and Soleta has no idea how long she has been inside Nechayev’s mind, it must be hours, days, weeks, she is lost in there and will never find her way out, and she cannot let herself be taken down, there is too much riding on it, and Nechayev pushes back with her mind, and Soleta meets the challenge, and their consciousnesses collide, and Soleta is on the verge of destruction, just that quickly, just that easily, and Soleta focuses all her will, all her essence, her ego, her id, everything, into one great vicious destructive spear and she drives it forward with as much force as she can, and as she does this, as she commits this incredible act of determination, she wonders why she has done this, why she has, time and again, risked herself to serve, whenever possible, an organization that tossed her away, that treated her so very, very badly, and it is at that moment that she is struck with the thoroughly astounding realization that she is totally, madly, and completely in love with Mackenzie Calhoun, and she has just enough time to think, Well, of COURSE you are, how could it be anything else but that, you should have realized that ages ago, and that is when everything goes black…
iii.
Calhoun had not known what to expect when Soleta had agreed to force her mind into that of Nechayev so that they could discern just what it was they were dealing with. What ultimately happened transpired so quickly that it was hard for him to believe anything had occurred at all.
From the moment that Soleta clamped her hand onto Nechayev’s face to the time that it all ended horribly, it was scarcely the blink of an eye. And then Nechayev screamed, and it was not a scream that sounded like anything remotely human or, for that matter, anything that Calhoun had ever heard before. It started low and then got louder and louder, escalating until it was earsplitting, like something that might be torn from the throat of a dying bat.
And Alynna Nechayev melted.
He had never seen anything like it. It was as if her body had simply lost cohesion, transforming into a gelatinous mass of protoplasm, suffused with a blue glow. Her head descended between her shoulders, her arms melted into her body, and her legs dissolved beneath her body, causing it to sink very rapidly as if she had just stepped into a pool of quicksand. She made the most appalling noise when she collapsed in on herself, like a sucking noise through a huge straw, and then her body utterly dissolved into a mass of flesh and liquid bones that mixed together into a disgusting, multicolored agglomeration.
Soleta pitched backward and Calhoun caught her. Her face, typically with a light green tint, was completely yellow. Were she human, she would have been diagnosed with kidney failure. He shouted her name but her yellow-tinted eyes rolled up into her head and she was nonresponsive.
Passersby stopped in their tracks, unable to process fully what they had witnessed. Instantly he hit his badge and shouted, “Calhoun to Excalibur! Emergency beam up, two to sickbay, now! Now!”
In a burst of color and molecules, Calhoun and Soleta vanished, leaving a stunned Admiral Jellico with a spreading puddle where an esteemed admiral had previously been standing, and a hell of a lot of explaining to do.
U.S.S. Excalibur
i.
The Doctor sat in Ten-Forward, looking around at the laughing couples. They were discussing the close scrapes that the ship had had, and the madness of Morgan Primus, and how terrific it was that everything was finally up and running again. He watched that Tobias woman from the bridge, the one who had somehow known that the Dauntless was about to fire upon them—which, as it had subsequently turned out, was a correct assumption. She was seated across the table from another young woman who had red skin and a haunted expression. Tobias was clearly trying to offer witticisms that would distract the young woman from her dour mood, but nothing seemed to be working. He hoped that whatever was bothering the young woman, it would all be sorted out in time.
“Is this seat taken?”
He looked up. Seven was standing there, with her hand resting on the chair opposite him.
“It is now,” he said with what he imagined was a degree of suavity. At least it was close as he was able to summon.
She pulled out the chair, sat, and folded her hands on the table. “I just wanted to say that it was very brave, what you did. We didn’t know for sure it was going to work. And if Morgan’s capabilities had exceded expectations, she might indeed have been able to detect the presence of the nano-virus within your mobile emitter. She could have turned it against you, caused you to—”
“I know what she could have done,” he said. “I was there when we had the discussions. It had to be done and I did it. I… mourn her passing, as best I can. I acknowledge the part I played in it. And now I move on.”
“I know you know it. I wanted you to know… that I knew it. You know?”
“I do. Or at least I do now. At least I think I do.”
She watched him for a time, and then said, “And I wanted to thank you. And to tell you that what you said about me… about why you were doing it…”
He looked embarrassed. “Yes, I know, it was melodramatic claptrap, foolish words from—”
“I thought it was very sweet.�
�
“Yes, I did, too.”
She laughed softly and he was surprised at how gentle and unforced it was. Then she said with genuine interest, “So… if you don’t mind my asking… what are you doing here? I mean, you don’t drink. You don’t know anyone else. So why…?”
“Sometimes… I just like to sit and watch people, and try to determine, just by watching them, what their individual situations are. How they eat, what their hobbies are, why they joined Starfleet. I find it a stimulating exercise.”
“And are you correct in your surmises?”
“I don’t know. I never thought to ask. It’s the speculation that intrigues me. To wonder about what might be is always much more interesting than obsessing about what is.”
Then he looked down. Seven was resting her hand atop one of his. Slowly, tentatively, he curled his fingers around hers.
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Seven.
ii.
“Come in,” called Robin Lefler when she heard the chime at the door of her guest quarters.
The door slid open and Calhoun entered. Then he saw what Robin was in the middle of and immediately he averted his eyes. “I’m sorry, I can come back later.”
Robin chuckled. “Are they that provincial back where you come from, Captain? This is why women have breasts, you know.” Cwansi, uncaring about the adult conversation, continued to nurse with quiet enthusiasm.
“Yes, I know that… intellectually. But it’s not something I dwell on.”
“Sit. It’s all right.”
He did so, although it amused her to see that he was extremely focused on her eyes, diligently making sure that his gaze didn’t drop below her neckline. But then the moment of amusement over his discomfort lapsed. “I was at sickbay to see Soleta about an hour ago. It breaks my heart. Do they have any idea when she’s going to come out of it or…” She couldn’t bear to add the word.
“Or if?”
She nodded.
Calhoun shook his head. “No. We’re hoping, praying that it’s soon.” He looked grim. “Starfleet is anxious to know what’s in her head.”